


Hope, Fate, and Other Impossibilities

by Ricky B (littletoes101)



Category: Baccano!
Genre: M/M, Rape, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-24 09:05:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2575898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littletoes101/pseuds/Ricky%20B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance encounter during a mob hit brings Luck Gandor and Dallas Genoard together once again in 1933. Luck decides to take care of him during the lengthy process of recovery. Living together with someone makes them grow on you. [Future LuckDallas, warnings for rape and sexual assault throughout]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rescue (Part 1)

**Part I: Discovery**

**Chapter 1: Rescue**

_March, 1933_

"Luck, there's somebody back here."

The sound of one of his men's voices snapped Luck back to attention, stepping away from the bloody corpse. This old, decrepit brick house was (had been) a Runorata hideout. The Gandors had attacked it in retaliation for the deaths of some of their men a few weeks ago, and Luck had come to see the damage. There was only one guy who'd been killed, and while Luck was left feeling that there was some kind of injustice in that, he followed the other man down the hallway.

Upon reaching the room at the end of the hallway, Luck's hand hesitated at the doorknob. It was already half-open; Luck could see the shape of a man on top of the bed inside. The figure looked familiar, but Luck didn't recognize him at first.

Pushing the door all the way open, Luck quickly realized the severity of the situation. Squaring his jaw, he turned to his underling.

"Bring one of the cars around. Leave it out front, and tell the other guys to stay back." It was an order, the other man recognized that, and he nodded resolutely as he dashed off.

Now moving fully into the room, Luck crouched beside the bed, pushing the man lying on the bed's hair from his face, in or der to properly identify him. He was sure of who the man was now.

Lying on the bed, motionless except for ragged breathing, sheets thrown half-heartedly over his naked form, was Dallas Genoard.

Luck was nearly taken aback in shock at the man's condition. He was fairly certain that Dallas wasn't there of his own accord; he was lying on his back, wrists tied to the bedpost. It appeared as though he'd been there for some time, but even when Luck touched his face, Dallas didn't respond. Though he did give a tiny, thin whimper, he made no active attempt to escape.

All at once, Luck was overwhelmed with two very different, yet equally strong voices: the one that said "Leave him," and the one that said "Take him." Dallas had been an enemy of the Gandor family since they'd met. There was absolutely no real reason for Luck to help Dallas, other than pity. Even so, it wasn't pity that made Luck untie Dallas's wrists. It wasn't pity that made Luck gently cover him with the bed sheet. It wasn't pity that made him carry Dallas out to the waiting car. It wasn't pity that made him take Dallas to the Coraggioso and put him to rest in the back room on the bed.

Rather, it was a sense of understanding, and remembering his own struggles, that made Luck Gandor save Dallas Genoard.


	2. Waking (Part 1)

**Chapter 2: Waking**

 

Dallas was brought in on Wednesday, and he slept straight through Thursday, right on into Friday. That was worrying, as little as Luck wanted to admit it, and he found himself hovering around the back room of the Coraggioso. He was almost glad that Dallas was still asleep, as Luck just couldn't come up with a convincing answer to the question that he would inevitably ask: "Why?"

Simple as it was, Luck's conflicting feelings about the situation turned it into a near-existential crisis for the parties involved.

He couldn't say that it was because he understood Dallas's plight -- if he did that, he'd have to explain, and Luck wasn't ready to go pouring out his life story to Dallas Genoard. Luck had to come up with something and it had to be fast.

Saturday rolled around, finding Luck still in the building, an empty wineglass on the table in front of him and a deck of cards in his hands. Preparing himself for another lonely game of Solitaire, he wasn't prepared for the sound of soft whimpers coming from the back room. When he heard them, however, he wasted no time in rushing to the back room, eyes fixated on the bed. Dallas was shivering as he stirred, a final, pitiful whine leaving him as his eyes opened. He didn't seem to take in Luck at first, his gaze unfocused and cloudy, but as he finally started to realize what was going on, Dallas murmured in a tiny, frail voice;

"Where am I?"

Taking this as his queue to speak, Luck answered, "With me." Dallas's eyes snapped to him - he obviously hadn't expected company - his face twisted in horror. His bare back hit the head of the bed with a loud slam, his lips parted in a soundless scream, like he was trying to make a sound but it wouldn't come. Dallas's entire being radiated fear and terror, Luck could see that, and it was no surprise. He had no doubt that the experience in the river was still fresh in Dallas's mind.

Letting Dallas terrify himself in his frenzied panic, Luck watched, waited patiently for him to finally calm down, which he did after five minutes upon realizing that Luck would come no closer than the end bedpost. Tired from the exertion, Dallas slumped against the pillows, the ache from slamming into the wooden headrest starting to fade.

"What -- why -- you--" Dallas stuttered, his eyes still reflecting fear. Luck held up one hand to stop him, saying bluntly;

"You're safe. Relax. It's alright." Luck hoped that it sounded gentle enough.

Even so, Dallas looked at him wearily. "So...you an' your brothers...you ain't -- I mean, you're not -- plannin' on killin' me?"

"No. Don't give us a reason to, and we won't. Right?" Dallas hesitated, then nodded, his body slowly starting to uncoil and relax. It seemed, for the time being, that Dallas was alright. Unanswered questions and silent, thick tension hung in the air, but it could wait. As much was Luck wanted to know, to hear everything, it looked like Dallas was still in shock for the most part. He doubted that Dallas would be able to share the full details of his experience for a long while yet.

The silence between them was finally broken by the long, extended growl of Dallas's stomach, which he covered with embarrassment. Luck grinned crookedly.

He figured that they could start the process of recovery with something simple.

"Get dressed. There's breakfast waiting outside." Luck motioned to the clothes on the table next to Dallas, then paused, before adding, "We're the only ones here, so there isn't anyone to bother you."

"Don't!" Dallas yelped out just as Luck was turning to leave. "Don't -- don't go. I'll -- I'll get dressed but please don't leave." His eyes were wide, and scared, but of something other than Luck. Something else entirely. Hesitating, Dallas added, "Please."

Pausing, contemplating, Luck's crooked grin returned as he leaned against the wall. "Alright. I'll wait."

Neither of them needed to say what for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, the first part of the chapter got deleted somehow.


	3. Remembering (Part 1)

**Chapter Three: Remembering**

June, 1923

Luck was thirteen when... _it_ happened. The terrible thing. _It_ took away his innocence, his childhood, his happiness, his dreams, all in one fell swoop. _It_ humiliated him, beat him down, made him small. _It_ broke his soul and his trust.

He couldn't tell anyone. That's what the bad man -- the man who'd hurt him -- said. It was their secret, his and the bad man's. That's why he wouldn't -- no, _couldn't_ \-- talk.

Luck curled into the hospital sheets, his fingers digging into the thin white blankets. Sweat stuck the ugly gown to his skin, making him very uncomfortable, but he dared not say so. The dry, stagnant summer air made the room unbearably hot, but Luck refused to expose himself, even in an empty room. If he did, someone might come in, they would see him, in just that thin gown, and if he was "irresistible" even in a suit, there would be nothing stopping the other person from pinning him down and --

The memory was quick to overwhelm him, and Luck stared blankly out at the ceiling, wishing, for a moment, that he was dead.


End file.
